The Pearl Necklace Read Online Free

across the floor. Or even,
with one of his hands holding my wrists together, push me against the wall
beside the fridge and kiss me until my legs went to jelly and I forgot who the
hell I was.
    “All
done,” he said.
    I shook my
head, vision clearing, and waited while he stowed the cloth and spray in the
cupboard beneath the sink, then washed his hands. My face was hot, my cunt even
hotter, and wet, so wet. I cleared my throat quietly and smiled at him,
studying the way he put cups beneath the coffee dispenser and pressed various
buttons until a steady stream poured out. He was allowed to take refreshment
when he was working his nightshift here, only I’d never seen him anywhere but
at the front door or walking through the house doing his checks. I wished, as
he added creamer to our drinks, that when he went inside my bedroom to make
sure everything was in order before I retired, he imagined me in bed, waiting
for him.
    I doubted
it, and besides, a girl couldn’t have everything, could she? I had more than most—except
the one thing I did want was way out of my reach, even though he stood only
feet away.
    Sighing, I
kicked off my shoes, so glad to get the spiteful little bastards off, then stripped
away my short leather jacket and hung it in the back of my chair. My black vest
top showed off my sculpted, operated-on boobs to perfection, my cleavage well
and truly displayed if he had a mind to take a look. It seemed he didn’t. He
walked over to the table and placed our cups on it, sat opposite me. He sipped
and closed his eyes for a few seconds, giving me an idea what he looked like
when he slept. I felt a bit pervy , ogling him like
that, but I had to grab every chance I got to stare at him when he didn’t know
it so I could use the images for pleasure when I went to bed.
    I didn’t feel like a pervert, I was a raging pervert.
    He opened
his eyes and caught me looking. That was a bit of a bugger, wasn’t it. I laughed to cover my embarrassment then grabbed my
coffee, making things worse by spilling some over my hand. He’d think I was a
complete prat , but there wasn’t anything I could do
about it now. If I spoke I’d babble a stream of useless words, and if I
screeched, which I felt like doing because, deary me,
my skin burned, I’d hardly come off as the glamour girl I was supposed to be.
    “Bloody
hell, Miss Hillary,” he said, jumping up to go to the sink and wet a dishcloth
under the cold tap.
    He came
back and laid it over my hand, the coolness instantly erasing the heat. He
pressed his fingertips into my palm, and tingles went through me as I imagined
what those fingertips would feel like elsewhere. I blushed and hoped he’d take
it as a sign I felt stupid at my clumsiness. That he’d forget
why I’d spilt the coffee in the first place.
    “Thank
you,” I managed. “So kind.”
    And wasn’t
that just a bland thing to say, when what I’d really wanted to utter was “Sod
the cloth and strip me naked.”
    “Not kind
at all,” he said. “I’m just making sure you’re all right at all times.”
    God, how I
wished he did that because he wanted to and not because he was getting paid for
it. Still, I’d take any caring actions from him that he offered. Better than
not getting any at all.
    “I’m
okay,” I said, “ it didn’t burn me properly.”
    “I’ll need
to check that.” He lifted the cloth, inspecting the red blotch on the back of
my hand. “Doesn’t look like it’ll blister, but I think you ought to run it
under the cold tap for a bit, just to be sure. ”
    He was
still holding my hand, and I let him continue holding it as he led me across to
the sink. He turned the tap on and drew my hand under the stream, and all the
while I was imagining us in the shower, naked and writhing against the black
tiles in my bathroom. My face got hotter, my cunt wetter, and I had to focus on
the water hitting the base of the sink in order to get him out of my
peripheral.
    “I ought
to let Pippa